Chapter 59
Claire’s POV
It had been a few days since we came back to the safehouse—since the fire, the screams, the breaking point. The crew had given us space, and Vera hadn’t said much since. But she slept more, ate more. And she let me hold her without tensing. That was enough for now.
I woke up before the sun.
The air was still, the room dim with the soft blue of morning. My body was warm under the sheets, and when I turned my head, there she was.
Vera.
Lying on her side, one arm tucked under the pillow, her hair a mess across her face and shoulders. Bare skin caught the light in quiet, beautiful ways. Her breathing was steady, lips parted slightly, lashes brushing her cheeks like she was still deep in sleep.
My throat tightened.
There were a thousand versions of her. Ruthless. Cold. Unbreakable. But this one—this quiet, vulnerable softness—I would burn every world to protect it.
I brushed a strand of hair away from her face.
She didn’t stir.
My lips found the curve of her shoulder, feather-light. Then her neck, where her pulse fluttered under my mouth. She shivered slightly. Not awake, not fully. But I felt her shift closer.
I kissed her collarbone, slow and reverent. She sighed.
I pulled the sheets down just a little, tracing her hip with the back of my fingers, letting myself savor the quiet. Her skin was warm, marked faintly by old bruises and fresh healing. But it was hers. She was here.
Alive. With me.
I slid lower, pressing more kisses down her body, hearing the way her breath began to change. Slower. Thicker.
She murmured something—my name, I think. Her fingers brushed into my hair.
I kissed lower still, worshiping the way she trembled beneath my hands.
Because she deserved this.
After everything she’d survived.
After everything we’d lost.
This was mine to give—tenderness, adoration, devotion—not just in words, but in every touch.
She opened her eyes then, barely, and looked down at me. A question lived there, softened by something unspoken.
“I’m here,” I whispered. “Just let me love you.”
She didn’t say anything. Just nodded—barely. Her eyes never left mine. There was something raw in them, something I’d only seen in moments she tried to hide from the world. Trust. Fragile and whole, and handed over without condition.
So I kissed her again.
Softer this time. Slower. Like if I moved too fast, the moment would vanish. My hands framed her hips, my lips traced the skin she once shielded like armor. But here, now—she let me touch her. Let me see her.
She arched toward me, not rushed, just drawn—like the warmth between us had been waiting to return.
Her fingers tangled in my hair as I kissed a path back to her ribs, her chest, her throat. I could feel her heartbeat racing under my mouth. Still alive. Still fighting.
My name slipped from her lips, breathless and low.
It broke something in me.
Not lust.
Devotion.
This wasn’t about possession or need.
This was about giving her peace in a language no one else spoke. About loving her the way she’d never let herself be loved before—slow, grounding, quiet.
I held her face in my hands and kissed her mouth like a promise.
She pulled me closer, wrapping her arms around me like she didn’t know where she ended and I began. Her breathing stuttered. Her eyes were wet.
“Claire,” she whispered, voice rough, shaky.
I pulled back just enough to look at her.
She touched my cheek with trembling fingers. “I didn’t think I’d ever feel this again. You… you make it feel like I came back to life.”
I pressed my forehead to hers, breathing her in. “You did. And I’m here. I’m not going anywhere.”
A beat of silence.
Then, her lips ghosted over mine again, and this time, she kissed me first.
There was no fire in it.
No war.
Just love. Bruised and whole.
And mine.
Vera’s POV
Claire had fallen asleep an hour ago, wrapped in the blanket that barely clung to her skin, her head resting on my shoulder. Her breathing was soft. Peaceful. Like she hadn’t once stormed into hell to pull me out.
I couldn’t stop staring at her.
My hand moved lazily through her hair, again and again, savoring the feeling. She murmured something I didn’t catch in her sleep, but I didn’t ask her to repeat it. I just leaned forward, pressed a kiss to her temple, and whispered back, "I know."
But the moment wouldn’t last. It never did.
Quietly, I slid out from under her, tucking the blanket back around her frame like she was something sacred. Then I stood. My body still ached, but the fire in me was louder than the pain.
Downstairs, the crew was waiting. The table was already full—maps, weapons, lists. They stood when I walked in, but no one spoke. Not right away. It was Miguel who finally stepped forward.
"Jefa."
The others echoed him softly.
I didn’t need the words. Their eyes were enough. Some filled with guilt, others with relief. But all of them held something else too: loyalty. Fierce, hard-earned, and real.
"Leo is dead," I said flatly, eyes scanning the table. "But that doesn’t mean we stop fighting."
Heads nodded.
"We rebuild," I continued. "Smarter this time. Safer. Less blood, more control. This crew doesn’t need to fear the same things anymore. Not while I’m standing. Not while Claire’s by my side."
There was no argument.
The door creaked behind me, and I didn’t need to turn to know who it was.
Claire, rubbing the sleep from her eyes, barefoot and still half in a daze, stepped toward me. She didn’t hesitate. Just climbed into my lap like it belonged to her.
And maybe it did.
No one blinked. Not anymore. They’d seen what she did. How she led. How she bled.
"She’s second," I said simply.
They nodded. "She earned it." One of them said.
Before I could say more, the main door opened again.
Miguel entered a moment later, and behind him—Valeria.
My breath caught.
She hadn’t said she was coming.
Valeria looked around the room with a smirk, arms crossed. “Wow. I leave for a few days and you’re running board meetings like you’re running for office.”
Claire chuckled. “Don’t tempt her.”
Vera tilted her head. “What do you want, Val?”
“I brought you something.” Valeria pulled something from the inside of her jacket and tossed it onto the table.
An envelope.
Claire picked it up, blinking. Her eyes widened. “Is this—?”
“Our wedding invitation,” Valeria said, smug. “You’re a bridesmaid. Emilia insisted.”
Claire’s face crumpled with emotion as she laughed softly. “I’m honored. And terrified. Both.”
Valeria turned to me.
“And you…” She pointed a finger at me. “You’re mine.”
My face went still. “Excuse me?”
“My maid of honor. You’re family. And if you think I’m walking down the aisle without my sister beside me, you’ve gone soft.”
I scoffed. “No. Absolutely not. I am not wearing whatever glittered monstrosity Emilia picks—”
“You’ll survive.”
“I’ll burn the dress.”
“You’ll wear it.”
Claire leaned in and whispered, “Do it. For me.”
I glared at her. “You’re not helping.”
Valeria smirked. “She’s helping me.”
A long pause.
Then I sighed like the world was ending. “Fine.”
Claire smiled against my shoulder.
Valeria walked to us, tugged Claire’s hair affectionately, and said, “Try not to kill each other before the wedding.”
“No promises,” Claire muttered.
Miguel snorted. “God help us all.”
But I didn’t care about God.
I had them.
My crew.
My sister.
And the girl who made me believe I could build something different.
Something that might last.
Claire’s POV
Later that night, the house had gone quiet.
Dinner was long over, the dishes done, the crew scattered to their rooms or passed out wherever they dropped. I found Vera out back, sitting on the steps behind the kitchen, barefoot, a half-lit cigarette between her fingers, not even smoking it—just watching it burn.
I stepped outside, rubbing my arms. The air was cool against my skin. “You okay?”
She didn’t look at me at first. Just nodded slowly, like she wasn’t sure. “Yeah.”
But I knew better.
I dropped beside her, knees touching, and gently took the cigarette from her fingers. Flicked it away. “What’s going on in that complicated brain of yours?”
She didn’t speak for a long moment. Just stared out into the dark, her jaw tightening like she was wrestling with something.
Then—softly, hesitantly—she asked, “Do you think… we could have that too?”
I blinked. “Have what?”
She glanced at me. Her eyes, for once, weren’t sharp. They were open. Vulnerable. “A wedding. The whole thing. Like Val and Emilia.”
My breath caught.
My heart slammed in my chest so hard I was pretty sure she could hear it.
“You—are you—” I stumbled, blinking at her. “Are you asking me to marry you right now?”
She shrugged like it was no big deal. “I guess.”
I let out a disbelieving laugh and smacked my palm against my forehead. “You’re unbelievable.”
“What?”
“No, no, no,” I said, grinning. “You don’t get to casually drop a proposal on the back steps like you’re asking if I want dessert.”
Her brows drew together. “So… that’s a no?”
I stood up. “That’s a do-it-right.”
She stared at me.
I crossed my arms. “I’m waiting.”
She groaned, muttering something under her breath, then—grudgingly, dramatically—got to her feet… and dropped to one knee.
In the moonlight, with bare feet and sleep-tousled hair, she looked ridiculous and perfect.
“I’m not good at this,” she said, fidgeting. “But… you already know you’re everything to me. You already know I’d burn the world for you. So this is just… asking if you’ll keep choosing me, even when I’m difficult. Even when I’m cold. Even when I leave the toilet seat up.”
I choked on a laugh, my eyes stinging.
“Claire,” she said, her voice lower now, more serious. “Will you be my forever?”
I dropped to my knees in front of her, cupped her face in my hands, and kissed her so deeply I forgot how to breathe.
When I pulled back, my lips were trembling. “Yes. I thought you’d never ask, you dramatic asshole.”
She grinned, eyes suspiciously shiny. “You love it.”
“I do,” I whispered, resting my forehead against hers. “I really, really do.”
The next morning was quiet. Not the kind of silence that weighed or haunted—but the kind that felt earned.
I rolled over, my hand instinctively reaching for Vera. She was already up. But I could smell coffee and hear the low murmur of voices coming from the living room. No shouting, no weapons drawn. Progress.
I took my time getting ready, savoring the warm sheets, the hum of life in the house. When I stepped out, barefoot, Vera was leaning against the counter, arms crossed, talking with Miguel and Lucia. She looked up when she saw me—and her whole face changed.
That was still the part that stunned me the most.
That she softened for me.
That the infamous Vera Castillo looked at me like I was the only thing in the world that made sense.
She walked over, pulled me in by the waist, kissed my forehead like it was hers. And it was.
The crew gave us nods and smirks, like this wasn’t the stuff of legends already. Like the ruthless woman they once feared had somehow found peace and, maybe, a little joy.
Later that day, Valeria and Emilia stopped by, armed with a clipboard and an overenthusiastic wedding binder.
“Don’t think you’re skipping out on a proper ceremony,” Emilia told Vera sternly, setting down samples of fabric and cake options like we were preparing for war. “You’re both ours now. And that comes with speeches, awkward dancing, and matching floral arrangements.”
“Do I get to shoot someone at the end?” Vera deadpanned.
“No,” Valeria and I said in unison.
Vera rolled her eyes. “Lame.”
Emilia grinned. “You’ll live.”
Eventually, the sun began to dip. We all found ourselves outside, lounging on the porch, the sky bleeding orange and gold over the hills. Vera pulled me onto her lap, arms tight around my waist, her head resting against my shoulder.
For once, there were no ghosts in her eyes.
Just us.
Our future.
Our strange, scarred, beautiful future.
“I’m not perfect,” she murmured into my neck.
“Neither am I,” I whispered back. “But I think we’re perfect for each other.”
She kissed my shoulder. “Forever?”
I nodded. “Forever.”
And this time, when the silence came, it wasn’t empty.
It was full—of everything we survived, everything we were, and everything we were about to become.